New York Christmas Serenade (pt. 3 of 4)
CS Genre: Canon Divergence (missing year between 3a and 3b)
"Mom! Wake up!" Henry said, shaking her shoulder. "It's Christmas morning!"
Emma groaned as she woke up. It was early. Way too early. By the look of the sky from her bedroom window, it would still be Christmas morning for another several hours yet. It could barely even be called dawn.
"Alright, Kid, I'm up," she said on a yawn, reaching for her robe and slippers. "I know you're all about opening the rest of your presents, but you're going to have to wait for the coffee to brew. You know I'm not awake before I've had my first two cups."
"Don't worry about that!" Henry said, "Killian already made coffee. Now he's working on breakfast."
Emma froze. Killian. How had she forgotten the handsome stranger was still there?
Not long after Henry opened his gifts, Emma had glanced out the window to see it snowing with a vengeance. Turning on the TV, she quickly found out why. They were in the opening stages of a monster blizzard.
Emma shot Killian a concerned look. "You have a place to stay?" she asked. "Your home close?"
"I'm afraid not, love," Killian said. "I've yet to secure lodgings for myself. It's no matter, though. I've weathered many a storm."
The thought of turning him out into the blizzard had seemed beyond heartless. Who let a guest of theirs go out and freeze to death in a blizzard? Particularly one her son seemed to have an inexplicable bond with—especially after getting that storybook? Particularly one she felt such a tie to.
"Look," she'd said stiffly. "It's nasty out there. If you want, you can crash on our couch. Can't guarantee it's the most comfortable bed you'll ever sleep on, but it's bound to be better than wandering around on the streets of New York in the middle of a blizzard, right?"
His eyes had lit up as though she'd offered him the best gift of his life. "It would be an honor to sleep on your couch, Swan," he'd said in wonder. "You've no idea how much it means to me that you've offered."
Now, in the (still barely there) light of day, Emma began to second guess her magnanimous gesture. What did she even know about this Killian guy really? What kind of a mother lets a strange guy—who could be a serial killer for all she knew—crash on her couch with her son in the apartment.
You're safe with him. He'd never harm you.
Now where had that thought come from? It made no sense that she'd know that, but somehow she could feel the truth of the statement all the way to her bones. Killian Jones was no threat to her or to Henry.
(Well…except perhaps to her heart. Only one night in the man's company—one very platonic night—and she could already feel herself falling for him. What was with her? Emma Swan did not get crushes like that! She had her heart locked up as tightly as Fort Knox. No way she lets feelings in!)
Emma took a tentative step from her bedroom and couldn't help the groan of appreciation that escaped her. It smelled amazing out there. Coffee—strong coffee from the scent of it—percolating, bacon sizzling, pancakes on the griddle. She took it back. Not only was Killian no threat to her, she may have to just invite him to live with the two of them.
"Morning love," He called with a cheery smile—how did he look that chipper after only getting a few hours of sleep on a lumpy sofa? "I trust you slept well?"
"What little amount of time the kid let me sleep," she said on a yawn. "He's lucky it's Christmas or no way I'd let him get away with waking me up at the butt crack of dawn."
Killian chuckled. "No I suppose not. I know full well a man is taking his life in his hands when he wakes you. There was one morning on Never…er…I mean…you look like someone who enjoys her sleep."
"Nice recovery," Henry said under his breath. "Making her think you're crazy is definitely not how you make headway with Operation Captain Swan."
"Never? Operation Captain Swan?" Emma asked in bewilderment. "What are the two of you talking about? How do you know my sleeping habits? And when did you and Henry suddenly become best friends? "
"Not to worry, Swan," Killian said, scratching away at that spot on his neck again. "This morning the lad merely told me that the way to your heart is through your stomach."
"The way to my...Are you…are you saying you want to get to my heart?" No way she was telling him that very organ was pounding so hard at the very notion she was surprised he couldn't hear it.
In a blink Killian's embarrassment faded away to be replaced by pure flirtatious mischief. "Oh darling. You have no idea," he purred.
She held his gaze for as long as she could (which…ended up being less than five seconds), and then she hid behind her favorite defense—sarcasm. "Yeah, well, you gonna take that bacon out of the pan or just let it burn while you act like an idiot?"
He shot her a wounded look. "Of course I had no intention of burning your victuals, Swan! It took me quite some time to determine the proper way to utilize your cooking box, and now that I have, I have no intention of ruining a perfectly good breakfast."
"It's called a stove, Hook," Henry muttered under his breath.
Seriously, when did the two of them become all buddy-buddy? And where was this guy from that he didn't even know what a stove was?
She had no further time to ponder the big questions of her life, though, as Killian slid a plate of food and a mug of coffee in her direction. At the first bite, Emma moaned in ecstasy. The man could cook.
Looking up, she caught the positively sinful look in Killian's eye. "I quite like that sound Darling. Perhaps I might endeavor to elicit it once more…sometime when we're alone."
"La, la, la," Henry said, sticking his fingers in his ears. "Kid in the room guys!"
Emma felt her face flame, so she did the only reasonable thing, she turned a withering glare at the idiot in leather currently seated at the head of the table. "In your dreams Jones."
"You have no idea."
Emma glared again, expecting to see the same sinful look in his eyes, but what she found instead floored her. Pure, unvarnished longing. It was the look of a man desperately in love. One who feared he'd never have a chance with the girl of his dreams.
The look called to her, and she suddenly had the insane urge to reach over, grab his hand and reassure him that he would find happiness one day.
Fortunately her hand closest to Killian was currently occupied shoveling as much food as possible into her mouth.
Breakfast was a short affair, eaten hastily. While Henry was normally a pretty patient kid, waiting to open presents on Christmas morning would test the patience of any kid.
"Why don't you go get your presents organized," Emma said, getting to her feet. "I'll just take care of these dishes and I'll be there in a sec."
"Nonsense, Swan," Killian said with a hand to her arm…a soft pat that felt almost like a caress. "Go have Christmas morning with your son. I'm perfectly capable of righting the galley."
"You sure? I hate to have you cook breakfast and then stick you with dishes too."
"Aye," he said with a tender smile. "Believe me when I say your happiness…yours and your lad's…ensure my happiness."
She smiled, impulsively reaching over and squeezing his hand. "Thanks."
"You are most welcome."
The following hour passed in a veritable blur, Henry moving from present to present. She supposed maybe she spoiled him with all the Christmas gifts she'd gotten him, but he was such a good kid and so genuinely grateful for everything he got. And then, of course, there was always that little lost girl inside of her that would never forget what it was like to wake up on Christmas morning to a bare tree and a lack of family. If it made her go a little overboard with her kid…that was just the way it was.
Just as the last gift—a brand new journal and gel pen (the kid liked to write)—was unwrapped, the couch seat beside her sagged, and Emma looked over to see Killian by her side. Not only by by her side, but close enough she could feel the heat of his body against her. It was…distracting to say the least.
"Um…" she said, clearing her throat and trying not to sound like a complete fool, "I guess that's it. The gifts are all unwrapped."
"Not quite, Swan," he said in a low, caressing voice. "I've one yet to bestow on you."
"Me?" she asked. "You got me a gift?"
"Aye," he said with a nod, turning away to rummage through his satchel once again. I saw this and thought of you."
"Th…thank you," she said, taking the long, thin velvet-covered box he held out to her. Opening it, she found a diamond and opal pendant in the shape of a swan attached to a fine, silver chain. It was gorgeous.
"I know you don't remember, love," he said softly, "but this pendant reminds me of our first adventure…one of the most satisfying adventures of my life, and it belongs with no one but you."
"The beanstalk!:" Henry said from his place on the floor, still surrounded by his Christmas loot. "It reminds you of the beanstalk."
"Aye," Killian said. "That it does indeed."
It should have been completely nonsensical this conversation her son was having with her…pirate (No! Not her pirate!), but somehow it simply wasn't. Something deep within her wanted to nod along and agree with them.
Before she could second guess herself, Emma leaned over and impulsively hugged Killian. "Thanks! I love it. And…I mean, it's still snowing out there. If you, you know, want to keep crashing on the couch for the next few days, I'm okay with that."
Notes: I wanted to give Emma's perspective on the things going on, but unfortunately, that didn't give me an opportunity to show any post-memory gain conversations between Henry and Killian—or explain what Henry meant by "Operation Captain Swan". Don't worry, all will be revealed in the fourth (and last) section of this little story.
-Up next: We learn what kind of plots Emma's boys have hatched to help her remember—and whether or not they're successful. As New Year's Eve arrives, Henry tells Killian about a certain midnight-on-New-Year's-Eve tradition in the Land Without Magic.